—Art Courtesy of Public Domain
ANDROMEDA’S DIGITS
Body bent over the stove preparing a omelet
Andromeda’s chipped nails poked through
fingerless gloves
grasping spatulas serving spoons pasta strainers
peeling potatoes Andromeda scraped her knuckle
on a cheese grater but never missing a beat
as a domestic goddess to be worshipped and
revered;
brothers and sisters critiqued her seasonings
prizing her crispy red peppers in particular
not one to disappoint she allowed them to bicker
each food connoisseur a pseudo aficionado
competed
for rock chain approval while Andromeda
nibbled cuticles
admired her gothic digits munched on flaky
crimson polish
Body bent over the stove preparing a omelet
Andromeda’s chipped nails poked through
fingerless gloves
grasping spatulas serving spoons pasta strainers
peeling potatoes Andromeda scraped her knuckle
on a cheese grater but never missing a beat
as a domestic goddess to be worshipped and
revered;
brothers and sisters critiqued her seasonings
prizing her crispy red peppers in particular
not one to disappoint she allowed them to bicker
each food connoisseur a pseudo aficionado
competed
for rock chain approval while Andromeda
nibbled cuticles
admired her gothic digits munched on flaky
crimson polish
SENSORY OVERLOAD CADRALOR
I. Hyperstimulation
Lights out, alarms non-responsive,
blacken galaxies devoid of nightglow
provide no starry compass, awareness,
or sense of belonging; sudden sirens blare,
aircraft signals shimmer and shine above
resembling the London blitzkrieg
busting humanity’s seams physically,
intellectually, as neighborhoods radiate
Las Vegas splendor & guarded secrets.
II. Conical Squeeze
21st century wicked witches prefer burial
under assorted yarn to skyfall Kansas farmhouses;
flat on their backs, their magic instincts
remain intact, ebon and white leotards
clean, vibrant, void of runs, ruby sequin
slippers unhampered yet overwhelmed
by so called progress; there primary hybrid,
native, and social apps defy complacency
crush Glinda and Theodora without prejudice.
III. Barista
Hairless hobbit fingers pinch a white porcelain
coffee cup, its miniature handle smaller than a
doughnut hole, daring any index finger—halfling,
human, or elf to piece the small aperture, curl
around the knob & touch one’s thumb creating
a perfect circle; lifting the vessel towards lips
puffed, prepared, anxious to partake the “cafe corvo,”
the barista draws java to her open mouth, inhaling
clouds
of steamy expresso, savoring orange chocolate &
cinnamon.
IV. Umiak Sunset
Alone in a kayak my double-sided paddle
strokes a liquid mirror; blades break the glassy,
placid calm of Lake Vivian as they slice
through the medium, displace water, create troughs.
Most fellow mariners nod, others curse as they pass
alongside me in catamarans, trawlers, sailboats,
cruisers, and canoes as my vessel’s hydrodynamic
turbulence sends wake after wake, left to right
surging, lapping, ebbing, rocking undulating port
and starboard bows.
V. Metamorphosis
Sights, sounds, touches, tastes, odors
cannot converge, contain, or overcome bodies
momentarily revived like living dead walking
amid a corporeal onslaught; crossing arms
express attitude, fight off more than chills,
piercing glances perceive mysteries beyond
literal revelations, acknowledge objects
& creatures once ignored, celebrate reborn senses
that emerge from an epiphany’s chrysalis.
Lights out, alarms non-responsive,
blacken galaxies devoid of nightglow
provide no starry compass, awareness,
or sense of belonging; sudden sirens blare,
aircraft signals shimmer and shine above
resembling the London blitzkrieg
busting humanity’s seams physically,
intellectually, as neighborhoods radiate
Las Vegas splendor & guarded secrets.
II. Conical Squeeze
21st century wicked witches prefer burial
under assorted yarn to skyfall Kansas farmhouses;
flat on their backs, their magic instincts
remain intact, ebon and white leotards
clean, vibrant, void of runs, ruby sequin
slippers unhampered yet overwhelmed
by so called progress; there primary hybrid,
native, and social apps defy complacency
crush Glinda and Theodora without prejudice.
III. Barista
Hairless hobbit fingers pinch a white porcelain
coffee cup, its miniature handle smaller than a
doughnut hole, daring any index finger—halfling,
human, or elf to piece the small aperture, curl
around the knob & touch one’s thumb creating
a perfect circle; lifting the vessel towards lips
puffed, prepared, anxious to partake the “cafe corvo,”
the barista draws java to her open mouth, inhaling
clouds
of steamy expresso, savoring orange chocolate &
cinnamon.
IV. Umiak Sunset
Alone in a kayak my double-sided paddle
strokes a liquid mirror; blades break the glassy,
placid calm of Lake Vivian as they slice
through the medium, displace water, create troughs.
Most fellow mariners nod, others curse as they pass
alongside me in catamarans, trawlers, sailboats,
cruisers, and canoes as my vessel’s hydrodynamic
turbulence sends wake after wake, left to right
surging, lapping, ebbing, rocking undulating port
and starboard bows.
V. Metamorphosis
Sights, sounds, touches, tastes, odors
cannot converge, contain, or overcome bodies
momentarily revived like living dead walking
amid a corporeal onslaught; crossing arms
express attitude, fight off more than chills,
piercing glances perceive mysteries beyond
literal revelations, acknowledge objects
& creatures once ignored, celebrate reborn senses
that emerge from an epiphany’s chrysalis.
CHARCOAL MARQUEE
geminid showers
december skies set ablaze
night tar on fire
Black Friday constellation rushes
overhead like consumer comets
chasing a once in lifetime
rare galaxy extravaganza—
shooting stars that cross our path
with brisk determination deprive
our opportunity to wish upon a future
where fireball trains flare
across the cosmos,
lifting its tail like a skunk
teasing, flirting, denying us
the purity and promise found
in an intergalactic time capsule.
_____________________
Today’s LittleNip:
Write with the door closed, rewrite with the door open.
—Stephen King, On Writing: A Memoir of the Craft
_____________________
—Medusa, welcoming Sterling Warner back to the Kitchen today, with thanks for his fine poetry! More can be seen of Sterling and his poetry books at https://www.amazon.com/author/amazon.com_sterling.warner/.
Sterling Warner
For upcoming poetry happenings in
Northern California and otherwheres,
click on
UPCOMING NORCAL EVENTS
(http://medusaskitchen.blogspot.com/p/wtf.html)
in the links at the top of this page—
and keep an eye on this link and on
the daily Kitchen for happenings
that might pop up
—or get changed!—
during the week.
Photos in this column can be enlarged by
clicking on them once, then clicking on the x
in the top right corner to come back to Medusa.
Find previous four-or-so posts by scrolling down
under today; or there's an "Older Posts" button
at the bottom of this column; or find previous poets
by typing the name of the poet or poem
into the little beige box at the top
left-hand side of today’s post; or go to
Medusa’s Rapsheet at the bottom of
the blue column at the right
to find the date you want.
Would you like to be a SnakePal?
All you have to do is send poetry and/or
photos and artwork to
kathykieth@hotmail.com. We post
work from all over the world—including
that which was previously published—
and collaborations are welcome.
Just remember:
the snakes of Medusa are always hungry—
for poetry, of course!
Northern California and otherwheres,
click on
UPCOMING NORCAL EVENTS
(http://medusaskitchen.blogspot.com/p/wtf.html)
in the links at the top of this page—
and keep an eye on this link and on
the daily Kitchen for happenings
that might pop up
—or get changed!—
during the week.
Photos in this column can be enlarged by
clicking on them once, then clicking on the x
in the top right corner to come back to Medusa.
Find previous four-or-so posts by scrolling down
under today; or there's an "Older Posts" button
at the bottom of this column; or find previous poets
by typing the name of the poet or poem
into the little beige box at the top
left-hand side of today’s post; or go to
Medusa’s Rapsheet at the bottom of
the blue column at the right
to find the date you want.
Would you like to be a SnakePal?
All you have to do is send poetry and/or
photos and artwork to
kathykieth@hotmail.com. We post
work from all over the world—including
that which was previously published—
and collaborations are welcome.
Just remember:
the snakes of Medusa are always hungry—
for poetry, of course!
